C'mon We Can Make it Through This!
by Militarygeek13
Summary: Team Metal was reported KIA. Killed in action. Frost doesn't believe a word of it. They're not dead. They can't be, they wouldn't go down that easily. He has to find the truth and if they're really gone, isn't it his fault? If he had been there would it have ended differently? He must redeem himself. And all he has to do is find them. (Insult is welcomed. Teen-violence language.)
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer- I don't own Call of Duty or any of its characters, except some in Team Ice, who you'll meet later. This story is still finding its way, so let me know if you have any tips or advice! Thanks! (Also, notify me if you feel the rating should be adjusted). This is my first fanfic, so constructive criticism is welcomed!**

Prologue

Team Ice, "Guardian Angels"

Siberia, Russia

Ssgt. Derek "Frost" Westbrook

November 16th, 2016

10:06

Frost let out a wheezing cough as a shudder ran down his spine. A scarlet red stain swelled out into the snow around him, glowing in the dim moonlight. Pain soared through his chest and back, though his stomach wound had reduced to a throbbing ache. The agony quickly increased, almost becoming unbearable. He felt tears stream down his face, letting out a shaky breath. He felt his senses dull and willed himself to slip in unconsciousness, but for some reason he fought off the dizziness, his head spinning.

His mind was sluggish and it was a while before he could put two-plus-two together and realize what had happened to him. Gasping as he rolled onto his back, he knew he'd have to face the cold hard truth… He'd have to face death. His heart shattered at the thought of his teammates leaving him, but he quickly reminded himself that he'd told them to and that was what he wanted. "I'm hit, sh*t. Sh*t, SH*T!" His voice was trembling and weak, but it was filled with rage and fear. They were _so close! _Why did everything have to go to hell _now? _Groaning, he lifted his head from the snow to see a Russian advancing towards him, gun aimed at his head. Hopelessness flooding through him, he dropped his head into the snow once again.

His chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid breaths and he could taste the metallic blood trickling from his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut and his face twisted up in agony. _Dear God, help me! Please! If not me, just get them out! Get my team to safety! _He stiffened as something cold was pressed against his forehead, but didn't make any movement to get away from the man holding him at point-blank, he didn't even look at him.

The man gazed down at the dying soldier sadly, he did not want to kill the man. He was obviously a brave and noble man, he'd seen it. But it wasn't just because he admired his bravery, it was also because he himself had never taken a man's life and didn't see why this man in particular deserved to die. "Я просто хочу, чтобы забрать ваши страдания, поставить свои страдания к концу ..." He whispered softly, his finger inching towards the trigger. Then, the man's eyes fluttered open.

The Russian gasped as he peered into the man's shocking blue eyes. Within them, he saw pain and hatred, but he also saw grief, hope, and determination. It was then that he realized the soldier did not want to die, he was not ready. Blinking, he quickly holstered his weapon and stepped back. "Good luck, American." His thick accent almost made his words unrecognizable, but Frost nodded slightly as the man turned and dashed back up the slope, leaving Frost alone, bleeding out into the snow.

Frost could hear Gator screaming through his ear piece, he wanted to respond, but a wave of fatigue washed over him and his throat formed no sound. _Please, God! Please, just these words! _"I'm hit, man. I'm a dead man… Sh*t… I-I trust you, Gator. Get. Them. Out. Don't… Come back for me…"

That was the last thing he said before the pain took over his mind, the red splotches took away his vision, and he descended into blackness.


	2. Chapter One: As I Stand Here Alone

**Disclaimer : I don't own Call of Duty. So no ones' read this I bet, but yeah, here's a long chapter for no one in particular.**

Chapter One: As I Stand Here Alone

Fort Carson, Colorado

Derek "Frost" Westbrook

October 13th, 2016

_Derek ran forward, raising his gun to take aim at the hostiles in front of him._

"Sergeant Westbrook?"

_His finger jumped to the trigger, but he froze, craning his neck up and the sight made his heart stop. "Frost! Move!" He didn't have time to react to the warning. He saw the explosion before he could hear it. The flames swelled out from the bottom of the building, and the force knocked him backwards, his head smashing against the concrete. Black splotches danced in his vision as he watched the building pitch forward and collapse. Debris flew over his head, and he instinctively shielded his face with his arm as the explosion hurtled a car at him. It missed him narrowly and he snapped his head back just in time to see the building give out and sink towards the ground. Ash and smoke welled out in its own explosion. Slowly, the blackness took over his vision and he sank in unconsciousness._

_Frost blinked his eyes open and peered up from where he laid sprawled out on the street. In the corner of his eyes, he watched two figures streak past him as they hurried down the street and disappeared in the smoke. He could hear people yelling, but couldn't make out their words as he struggled to his hands and knees with a groan. _

"_-ambush! We gotta get the hell out of the kill zone! Move! Move!" He heard part of Sandman's cry as he bolted over to him. He waved his arm in an arch, beckoning Frost to follow him. "Head for the building!" Frost pushed himself up and stumbled to his feet before dashing after his Commander. To his left, a soldier sank to the ground, clutching his head. Frost wanted to stop and help him, but he had no time. They had to rescue the girl._

_His vision was still fuzzy as he stumbled into the collapsed building. Through his earpiece he could hear Overlord's concerned voice. "Metal 0-1, we've lost contact with the German division commander. What's the status on the ground?"_

"_The Tank column is down and we're getting overrun! This A.O. is lost!" Sandman reported, vaulting over a pillar that lay in their path. Frost followed more slowly. The building shook and groaned, as if it would cave in at any second. He cautiously weaved through the building after Sandman, cursing as it shook, causing rubble to break loose and crash onto his helmet. As if on cue, he noticed the terrible headache throbbing in his head, leaving him feeling as if nails were being pounded behind his eyes._

"_Missed your last, 0-1. Say again."_

"_They dropped the damn building on us!" Sandman yelled in reply, risking a glance behind him to make sure Frost was still following. _

"_Sandman, advise immediate pull back to extraction point." Overlord urged, not bothering to mask the urgency in his voice._

"_Negative, Overlord! We are going for the girl. Her beacon is still alive." Sandman protested, ducking through a doorway… or what once _was _a doorway. _

"_You'll need to move fast. Berlin is falling. We'll maintain ISR, over." _

My God, _Frost thought. _What am I even doing? What is this all even about? Why d-

"_Through here." Sandman's voice pulled him out of his thoughts as they moved through another room. _

"_This place is going to collapse on top of us." Frost muttered, pressing his hand against his temples, his head still throbbing. _

"_They must have rigged the building to blow if our tanks got this far…" Truck whispered softly through his com. _

"_Man… This is some bullsh*t." Grinch hissed in agreement. _

"_You got that right, bro." Frost coughed, his vocal cords tightening and making his voice a few octaves higher than usual. Sandman nodded in acknowledgment, but offered no say in the conversation. _

"_This thing's going to come down on us any second." Grinch mused, and Frost could sense his uneasiness._

"_Just keep moving." _

_The building shook and Frost let out a series of four-lettered curses, dodging more rubble falling from the ceiling. Frost was forced to pick up his pace as Sandman broke into a jog, maneuvering through the collapsing building at an alarming rate._

_The building shook once again and Frost froze, trying not to sway on his feet. "F*ck." He hissed beneath his breath. It must've carried over the com because Truck quickly tried to reassure him._

"_Easy, easy." He tried to calm the young Sergeant's nerves. "Got a doorway over here." He added quickly._

"_I see it." Sandman murmured, moving forward with newfound energy. He threw his shoulder against the door and it flew open. The duo of soldiers quickly filed inside and Sandman call out, "There's the hotel!" _

_They surged forward, out of the building, just to be met by a hail of bullets from a few Russians who were determined to put up a fight and succeed with their own mission. Frost quickly unleashed a spray of bullets, forcing the Russians down behind their cover._

"_Overlord, we're at the target building! Any update on the girl?" Sandman cried, diving for cover._

"_They're moving her to the third floor for extraction. You have zero time." His voice was grim, he'd already accepted failure of the mission._

"_We're losing her! Go! Go!" Sandman snapped as Frost took out the final enemy soldier. He quickly sprinted across the clearing and dashed into the hole in the wall of the hotel. Lashing out with his gun, and with the help of Sandman, they took out the remaining soldiers. _

"_Head for the roof!" Sandman urged as Frost hurried into the next room, nearly colliding with Grinch and Truck who seemed to come out of nowhere._

_Now, the reunited team, moved onto the stairway overlooking the lobby, firing down at hostile Russians. Frost, understanding the urgency of the mission, simply ducked his head and scrambled down the stairs, firing blindly as he stumbled towards the door to the stairway leading to the roof, which was located at the other side of the lobby. He was a few meters away when something pierced his side and, with a cry, he began to spiral to the ground. Bullets whizzed over his head as he sank to his stomach a grunt. The gunshots erupted and echoed off the walls and Frost shuddered, fear suddenly consuming him as he laid out in the open, pressing himself into the tiled floor. _

"_FROST!" Came Grinch's yowl and Frost let out a gasp as a weight dropped atop of him. Before he could react, Grinch was pulling by the collar and dragging him behind the wall. "You're good, man? You're OK?" He pressed, pulling him to his feet, his frantic blue eyes searching his teammate for injuries. _

_Frost felt pain flare through his side, but nodded, breaking free from Grinch. "I'll be OK." He muttered as Truck and Sandman slowly made their way over to them, still providing cover fire._

"_C'mon, Boss! Let's go!" Grinch shouted, shoving Frost's gun into his hands before drawing his own. Sandman and Truck hurried over, wasting no time in breaking the door down and rushing towards the stairway._

"_Up the stairs!" _

"_Get to the roof!"_

"_Metal 0-1, ISR shows that they're extracting the girl now. Advise you stand down and head to an alternate LZ." Overlord's voice came in over the radio, still trying to urge the team to accept the fact that the mission was bound to fail._

"_No! We can make it!" Sandman's voice was filled with determination and urgency as they continued to scale the stairs as fast as humanly possible. _

_Despite his injuries, Frost rushed past his team and turned into the hall of the third floor. A bullet whizzed by his head and Frost's heart began racing as he fired at one of the two Russians guarding the door. The second man aim towards Frost, but there was a loud gunshot from behind Frost and the man sank to the ground. _

"_Help! I am here! Help!" Alena's cries echoed through Frost's ears as he ran towards the end of the hall, the rest of his team at his heels._

"_She's behind the door! Move!" Sandman ordered just as Frost skidded to a stop in front of it._

_Sandman took his place on the side as Frost stood, at the ready, his gun aimed out in front of him._

_Sandman reached out for the handle, his eyes locking with Frost's as he did so. An unspoken agreement passed between the two of them and Sandman turned the knob. There was a dreaded beeping noise and before Frost knew what was happening, he felt Sandman collide with him and they both were tossed back into the hall. Half conscious of what he was doing, Frost reached forward and yanked Sandman's pistol from its holster and with two quick shots, killed the two Russian soldiers who'd began firing at Truck and Grinch. _

_Pushing Sandman off him and with his head reeling from the explosion, he staggered to the edge of the roof, cursing as the helicopter swerved away and lifted up, higher into the sky, and farther away. To his right, Grinch aimed his gun up at the chopper, ready to squeeze off a round, but Sandman forced his weapon down._

"_We can't risk it." He explained, shaking his head slightly as he turned back to face his team. Grabbing his com, he spoke. "Overlord, negative precious cargo." He paused and heaved a sigh. "We lost her."_

"_No…" Frost breathed, closing his eyes. "No… We were so close. We were so f*cking close!" Frost felt his knees buckle as he pitched forward, dangerously close to the ledge._

"_Frost!" Truck cried, lunging forward and grabbing his teammate by the arms and dragging him away from the certain death that would come if he'd fallen from the roof._

_Frost forced his eyes to stay open, though his vision was distorted and blurry. His stomach lurched and his head spun as he forced himself into a sitting position. Groaning softly as he pressed his hands to his forehead, he realized he had a terrible concussion. Truck, realizing this as well, cuffed him gently on the back of the head._

"_Stop banging your head around, Frosty." He smirked slightly, ignoring the pacing Sandman and Grinch, who was staring over at them in bewilderment at the fact that they could joke around after they'd failed the mission._

"_Oh f*ck off, man." Frost tried to scowl, even though the faintest hint of a pained smile tugged at the corners of his mouth._

"Frost. Hey, kiddo. Can you hear me?"

Frost's eyes fluttered open and his gaze darted around the dark room. Suddenly, it all came rushing back to him. Being extracted from Berlin and transported back to the states. Sandman and the medics denying his clearance to go back into battle until he healed, the rest of Team Metal getting their mission while he was cooped up in the infirmary building at Fort Carson. His eyes adjusting to the dim light, he pushed himself up and braced himself against the headboard.

Standing in the doorway was the large form of Grinch, suited up for combat, his signature baseball cap resting on his head, the visor hiding his eyes from Frost. He quickly closed the distance between the two of them and seated himself on Frost's bed, next to his feet.

"Oh. Hi Grinch. Oh, yeah, you can come in!" Frost smirked halfheartedly, his voice thick with sarcasm.

"Hah." Grinch muttered, his eyes staring down at his lap. Frost quickly picked up on his mood and stiffened, his icy gaze burning into Grinch until he finally pulled his cap off and looked over at Frost. "How you feeling, Frosty?"

"Physically, I'm doing alright, but I'm gonna lose my mind while you guys are out there. Can't believe Sandman wouldn't let me go." Frost tried to hide the hurt in his eyes and twisted away, his wounded side still sore.

Despite Frost's attempts, Grinch noticed his friend's disappointment and the look of betrayal hiding within his silvery-blue eyes. "Aw Frost." He sighed, resting his hand on Frost's knee. "You know he's just worried about you. Nearly fell off the roof. Man, you messed up big time, you remember?"

"Yeah… I remember." Frost sighed, slowly looking back at Grinch. "You're nervous."

Grinch nodded slightly. "Outta my wits. Your replacement,"-Frost visibly winced at that part-"McCoy, I've never met him and I don't know how well we can function as a team that way. But don't worry. All we gotta do is grab the President and his daughter, then get out. Should be a piece of cake."

"So what are you doing here, then?"

"I don't know. Just wanted to see how you were doing. Say goodbye just in case-"

"You said it'd be a walk in the park."

"Aw, c'mon man. You outta all people know that the simplest missions can go to hell."

"I know."

"OK, get some rest, man. I'll see you later."

"Probably won't, but OK. I'll see you."

With that, Grinch stood and hurried out, leaving Frost alone in his own misery.


	3. Chapter Two: The Will of a Single Man

**Disclaimer- I don't own Call of Duty… Honestly, if I did, why would I be here? Anyway! Happy New Years and l guess I'll start now… **

**Oh, side-note: Gator is not an OC, he is in the MW3 campaign as a Delta Force soldier. **

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><p>Chapter Two: The Will of a Single Man<p>

Fort Carson, Colorado

Derek "Frost" Westbrook

October 15th, 2016

Frost stared at the man before him. Certainly he'd heard him wrong. He stood in the office room, the bright fluorescent lights creating a glow in the building, despite the cold winter storm that raged on outside. He stood inside the single office room on the floor-the lower ranked officers had received cubicles to serve as their own makeshift offices-gawking at the over at the Major. He'd been in the Mess Hall awaiting word of Team Metal's success when a young Corporal came to fetch him and escorted him here. He'd hadn't thought much of it, and was looking forward to seeing his team again, so what the Major said left him reeling as if he'd taken a blow to the head. He must've heard him wrong, it couldn't be true.

Frost's heart sank and he'd felt as if he'd just plummeted head-first into an endless pit. His hands began to tremble and he stiffly lifted his shocked gaze to the Major who had summoned him. "They're _what?" _His voice shook slightly and his eyes narrowed in a hostile expression.

"Calm yourself, Sergeant." The Major cautioned, his voice getting dangerously low. "And yes, they're dead. KIA, in the mine in Siberia. They were reported KIA by Captain Price from Task Force 141. It appears that your head injuries from your last mission that made you unable to participate in this mission saved your life. You should be very thankful Sergea-"

Frost slammed his hand on the desk, his palm flat and fingers outstretched. "Thankful? _Thankful?! _I should be thankful that my team is missing and I'm not with them?!" Heads began to turn their way, but Frost didn't care. He didn't give a sh*t. "And Captain Price! Did he see them die?"

The Major sighed as he stared up at the soldier before him. He had piercing blue eyes, and almost white blonde hair. He looked young, with a narrow face, but his eyes revealed the cold hard truth-he'd seen things that many people should never hope to see. The Major tried to be sympathetic. "Listen, Sergeant Westbrook, I'm sorry for your loss, but there's nothing w-"

"Answer me, dammit!" Frost shouted, his free hand clenching into a fist. The Major's features hardened and he rose in a standing position, his hands planted flat on the desk and his shoulders hunched as he leaned in closer to Frost. His eyes narrowed and Frost returned the hostile gesture.

"Captain Price reported that Team Metal stayed behind to cover their escape and refused to board the helicopter. Price tried to make the chopper go back, but the mine collapsed." The Major spoke evenly, though he was on the verge of snapping.

"So they're not dead!" Frost snapped, slamming his other hand onto the desk. "We can't just jump to conclusions! We have to go there and find out for ourselves! Send out a search party-something! Don't just sit on your lazy a*s!'

"Sergeant! Be realistic! Do you really think could survive that? Look, I'm trying to be sensitive-"

"Sensitive? Sensitive?! F*ck that! F*ck you! They're not dead! We don't know that! I swear to God, Major Dumba*s! They are not dead!" Frost insisted, growing frustrated with the Major's vague reasoning.

"Sergeant, may I remind you that you are speaking to a superior. I will give you five seconds to calm yourself and apologize." The Major was just as angry as Frost was now, and was fed up with his disrespect and nonsense.

"F*ck!" Frost snapped, his voice growing in volume. "How is this not history repeating itself? First we left Price to die, he got captured, and he got rescued! We don't know that Sandman, Truck, Grinch, and McCoy are dead! I can't believe you left men out there and you're doing nothing to save them!"

The Major was done. Before he could think, he drew his hand back, balled a fist, and then thrust it forward. There was a popping sound as it collided with Frost's jaw and he stumbled to the left, his head smacking against the wall, followed by his body. Using it to help him remain on balance, he leaned against it heavily. Blinking slowly as bolts of pain seared through his jaw and an ache throbbed in his temples, he raised his gaze to the Major, anger blazing within his icy glare.

The Major's eyes widened and he slowly lowered his fist, wiping the blood off on his pants. "Sergeant Westbrook…" His voice was soft and trembling slightly. It surprised Frost, but he saw fear within the man's now softened features. Something about it disgusted him and he stepped back slightly, his face screwing up in distaste.

Blood had begun to trickle from Frost's mouth and he quickly lifted his hand to his face and wiped the liquid away with the heel of his hand. "Good day, Major." He scowled, not bothering to mask loathe in his voice as he turned away from the desk and making his way towards the exit. He suddenly felt weary of all the eyes glued to him.

"Sergeant!"

Burning with anger and determination, Frost shoved the double doors open and stepped outside. A cold October breeze greeted him, ruffing his overgrown hair-for military regulations at least-and sending a chill down his side. The Colorado weather was merciless. The wind tore at his cloths and swirled around him leaving him engulfed in the cold, followed by an empty feeling in his heart. He could only imagine how much worse it must be in Siberia. "Hang on, guys. Just hang on a little longer. I'm coming to you. I'm going to find d him leaving him engulfed in the cold, followed by an empty feeling in his heart. He could only imagine how much worse it must be in Siberia. "Hang on, guys. Just hang on a little longer. I'm coming to you. I'm going to find you. I'm going to rescue you guys." He spoke to no one in particular as he stared out through the snow and started walking.

Reaching into his pocket, he fumbled for his phone. Finally fishing it out, he typed in a number with shaking hands and pressed it to his ear. "Hey, Gator?" He spoke against the whistling of the wind. "I've got some news that I just don't want to live with..."

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><p>"I'm sorry, you called him <em>what<em>?" Gator spoke with an abnormal, high voice, due to his vocal cords tightening as he tried to hold back his laughter.

"Major Dumba*s." Frost said bleakly, staring down at his hands which rested in his lap, clasping and unclasping in nervous energy. His silver hair was crusted in ice, causing it to sparkle in the artificial lights of the Mess Hall. Across from him, Gator broke out into a fit of laughter, slamming his palm down on the dark wood table and unleashing the deep throated laugh he'd been holding back so long.

"Holy smokes, man. If he hadn't punched you, you'd probably would have gotten fired!" Gator's face was a light tint of pink due to his laughing and his eyes began to tear up. Gasping as he clutched his stomach, he tried in sincere attempts to stifle his laughs. He had yet to notice the other man's agony.

"I don't think so, Gator." Frost spoke softly, still staring intently down at his hands. He had not yet informed the other man of his team's fate. Frost blinked. He and Gator had met in Delta training, but hadn't grown close until recently. And though they'd only _really_ known each other for a short while, Frost already trusted this man enough to share his pain and seek comfort from him.

Gator's laughs finally turned to chuckles which slowly subsided to a gasping fit. Finally, he regained his wits and he began to peer over at his friend skeptically. "Why?" His voice faltered as Frost raised his head to reveal a sad smile pasted across his face as tears rolled down his cheeks. The eye contact ended abruptly as Frost dropped his head once more and squeezed his eyes shut, breaking away from Gator's bewildered gaze. His body shook as he struggled to hold back sobs. Laying his arms down on the table he buried his face in them, his body lurching with each silenced cry. Pausing to look over the pitiful sight of his friend, Gator swiftly vaulted over the table and took a seat beside him, placing a firm hand on his back in attempts to comfort the soldier.

"They think they're gone…" Frost croaked, not lifting his head from the table. He decided not to mention the fact that it was due to his sloppy work on their pervious mission that he got turned down for the rescue and he felt that the horrid result of the mission laid in the fact that he was absent and unable to help his team.

Those four words set an alarm off in Gator's head. Even still, nothing could have prepared him for the words that followed. "They think Sandman, Grinch, Truck, and McCoy are dead. They won't even send a damn search party out." Gator felt as if he'd suffered a hard blow to the head. They were gone. The legendary Team Metal was really gone? _No, _Gator thought sadly. _They left one man behind. They left one man in their wake. _

Gator felt his heart sink and his stomach churned. A sense of despair swelled through him as his chest grew tight. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes, but he gently brushed them away. He quickly found himself questioning his sad emotions towards men he barely knew, but quickly cursed himself for being so shallow. He tried to speak to his friend, but no words managed to escape his mouth, so he just continued to sit there, his arm draped over Frost's trembling shoulders.

"I should've been there… I was supposed to be there. They wouldn't damn let me. I thought we were a _team!_ And Grinch! He knew it was going to go to hell, why didn't he _tell _me? I thought we at least respected each other enough to not keep each other out in the dark! I thought he _trusted _me… I thought they all did…" Frost had started out with his voice raising in volume, but now it died out and was replaced by strangled sobs. Together, they sat there in the abrupt silence that went on until Frost could take no more.

"Say something! For the love of God, say _something!_"

Gator paused to chew his lip as Frost's words sank in. He deserved an explanation, he really did. But Gator could only offer so little and tried to come up with something worthy to say. "There's nothing to say, my dear friend, expect that you have been horribly lied to when you were told that your team would always speak the truth to you. But they might've had different motives than distrust." Gator blinked slightly before giving Frost's shoulder a squeeze. "Do you think they're dead?"

"Of course not. I think tha-"

"Good! Then let's find a way to save their sorry asses instead of just crying here missing them!" Gator exclaimed as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"They won't do it. I tried to get the Major to but," he gestured to his bruised and bloody face. "He thought I was being insane." Frost winced as he rubbed his jaw.

"No. We're not going to the Major. C'mon, I know someone." Gator was on his feet already, tugging at Frost's jacket. He continued to do so until Frost got to his feet and followed him into the brutal Colorado weather.

"Oh. What have I gotten myself into?"


	4. Chapter Three: When All is Lost Hope

**Disclaimer- I don't own call of duty. Anyway, this chapter goes out to D353RT5TORM, who made my day with his favorite and comment. Alright, this is for you, I'm trying, just stick with me guys! You have any advice or suggestions, or even anything you want in the story, please don't hesitate to tell me, I could use the help!  
><strong>

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><p>Chapter Three: When all is lost… Hope<p>

Fort Carson, Colorado

Derek "Frost" Westbrook

October 16th, 2016

Frost's hands were shoved in his pockets as he walked besides Gator, whom had the usual spring in his step while Frost trudged more slowly, his mood visibly showing through his actions.

"Brighten up, man! We talked to Colonel Munson and he's going to contact Overlord and they're going to set up a rescue team. Even better, we're the ones leading it!" Gator smiled over at Frost and nudged him roughly in the shoulder. Gator was referring to the conversation they'd had with the Colonel moments before. They'd told him about Team Metal's disappearance-he'd already known-then told him about the Major turning down a search party. The Colonel then contacted the General, got the request confirmed then informed Gator and Frost that they'd be assigned to a new squad who'd recently lost their leader and would be given the mission of finding and rescuing Team Metal. They didn't need to ask what he'd met by that. Frost felt his heart going out to the now leaderless squad and couldn't help but relate to them, knowing how it was to lose a teammate-well, in his case an entire team.

"Don't you think that that's what I'm afraid of? Gator, we both don't have any experience in that kind of stuff, aren't you even the slightest bit worried that this might just go to hell? I mean, I'm happy we're going after the guys, thank you, by the way, but we're getting a team? That's a big burden, Gator. Every man you lose… Don't you think that could be hard on us?"

"Wow, Frost. It may be too late to save you. You don't have any hope. You're really a downer, huh?" Gator raised an eyebrow at Frost who sighed and shook his head, refusing to meet his gaze.

"I'm just stressed out, that's all. I'm scared for my guys, I don't even know what might happen to them…" Frost paused to imagine this, but the ideas that came to his mind were so brutal that he had to push them away.

Gator stopped walking and watched Frost as he shuffled past. Frost quickly spun around and proceeded walking backwards, gazing over at Gator questionably.

"Ya know what, Frosty?" Gator asked, his face revealing nothing as he resumed walking, concentrating on his stride. "You think too much." With that, he stomped on the toe of Frost's right boot as he lifted his left one, causing his backpedal to falter and send the stunned man to the pavement, which just so happened to be conveniently glazed in a fresh layer of ice. Frost landed with a surprised cry, and glared up at Gator, desperately trying to hold in his laughter and trying to make an intimidating face. Gator simply smirked and kicked Frost in his ribs before trotting past him. "Now we observe Frost in his natural habitat." He chuckled as Frost struggled to his feet, the ice making it a nearly impossible task.

"Kick a man while he's down, ey?" Frost's shrill voice rang out from behind Gator who offered a crisp flick of his hand, not bothering to look back.

"Precisely, my friend. You see, I-" Suddenly something collided with his back, followed by a cold, prickling sensation spreading down his neck and spine. Whirling round, Gator raised an eyebrow at the sight. Frost stood behind him, his hands moving to his pockets and his eyes darting away in a mock look of innocence. Glancing at the powder of the destroyed snowball resting on the pavement, Gator smirked. "Ohhh. You do _not _know what you just did, Sergeant Westbrook. Very well. You must learn _somehow_."

The two of them stood in the large yard in front of the barracks, which had been covered with a fine sheet of snow that had been shed from the storm the previous night. The barrack was a large building constructed of bricks, making the red building hard to miss in the snowy landscape. The two men wasted no time in bolting across the field towards the road where an untouched pile of snow laid due to the roads being plowed. Gator reached it first and quickly clambered to the top, planting his hands on his hips and gazing across the yard. "I hereby claim this land in the name of Ga-oof!"

Frost had hurtled himself at Gator, causing them both to go tumbling on the downside of the pile. Frost quickly got to his feet, scaled the barrier and ducked behind it, a plan forming in his mind. Meanwhile, Gator rose to his feet and cupped his gloved hands around his mouth. "Ah! Running away now, are we, you coward?"

"In your dreams!" Frost cried gleefully as he popped up from his cover and chucked a snowball at Gator's face. The soldier instinctive dropped to the ground to dodge it, allowing Frost to pound him in the back twice before needing to resupply in ammo. Gator took this chance to his advantage and climbed to the top of the snow barricade before kicking the powder down at Frost.

"Haha!" Gator shouted as Frost recoiled away, abandoning the ball of snow he'd been molding. Gator snatched it and hurtled it right at his comrade's face. Frost however ducked quickly and tackled Gator to the snow. Gator feebly kicked Frost off him who retreated towards the few trees near the far side of the building. Gator quickly pelted after him, a smile spreading across his face.

Frost dropped to his knees and slid, snow flying up in his wake. He wasn't sure when Gator stopped following him, but he knew he'd have to be prepared. He quickly got to work, compressing the snow into tight, neat balls, ready to pound Gator should the time come. He'd managed to make about five when Gator's battle cry rang out behind him and Frost turned into a fistful of snow. Frost quickly hurtled his half-assembled snowball in attempts to counterattack, but Gator was obviously ready.

Frost laughed as he was mercilessly pounded with the snowballs, his weak defense easily defeated. Pressing himself into the snow, he clutched his last snowball, hidden at his side. Raising his free hand he spoke. "Okay, okay! You win, Gator. You happy? You win."

"How could I win if it wasn't even a competition?" Gator retorted, proud of his clever choice of words. Frost simply rolled his eyes and awaited Gator's approach. "You should've known not to challenge me at-HEY!" Gator went spiraling as pain exploded on his face. "That wasn't even snow, you bastard!" He yowled, clutching his cheek as he fell to his knees.

"Aw, Gator. Don't cry. It's just a game y'know." Frost smirked, his eyebrows arching as he stood over the Sergeant. "Even if I did beat you." Frost offered Gator a hand up, but with his wounded pride, Gator decided he was too much of a man to accept it and got to his feet himself.

"You _can't _do that, Frost! First surrender then pound me in the face with an f*cking iceball?! That's wrong on so many levels, I don't even know where to start!" Gator shouted, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "No wonder nobody likes you!" Even though his voice was thick with annoyance, Frost could tell Gator thought it was all good fun.

"Aw, c'mon man. You should've seen that coming, I thought it was so cliché that you'd realize it. God, you're dumber than everyone says. Anyway, you said it wasn't a competition, so no rules, right? Honestly, this is on you." Frost grinned over at Gator who couldn't help but return it.

"We're gonna have a lot of fun together, bro. A lot of fun." Gator smirked evilly. Slyly, he added. "Watch your back, you never know when karma might kick your sorry a*s, Frosty."

"Oh, I'm just terrified." Frost's voice was heavy with sarcasm, and Gator knew it, but he decided to take it literally anyway.

"Oh you should be. C'mon. Let's go inside before he both freeze to death."

Frost shook his head softly, a smile spreading across his face. Maybe, just maybe, he'd be alright. Maybe they'd get Team Metal back. Maybe then Frost would get over the guilt that had begun to corrupt him. Jogging to catch up with Gator, Frost felt his heart lighten as a new feeling crept into him. Hope.


	5. Chapter Four: Team Ice

Disclaimer- I don't own Call of Duty, I don't own Frost, Gator, or Team Metal. This chapter's going out to **SeraphHT **for all her help and advice, she has no idea how much her reviews mean to me. Okay, let's do this, shall we? I'm sorry if this chapter didn't meet your expectations, it didn't really meet mine. I'm not good at describing characters and bringing out their personalities. Oh and just a heads up, there will somewhat be an OC POV, if you don't like it, tell me and I'll try to avoid doing it. Thanks!

Chapter Four: Team Ice

Fort Carson, Colorado

Michael "Rookie" Elliot

October 18th, 2016

Michael Elliot shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Here he was, standing in formation, Alpha team on the right, Bravo team on the left, and Bravo and Rift, the Fire Team leaders, standing in front of their own team. Together, the two Fire Teams would form squadron, if only they had a leader, which they did not. Less than a month ago, their Squadron Leader had perished in the Battle of New York, which just so happened to have been Michael's first mission, hence the nickname he earned, Rookie.

From what he understood, they'd be receiving _two _squadron leaders now, and though Rookie was still an FNG (fucking new guy), he knew enough to realize that that had probably never happened before. Why it was happening now, he had no idea. What their newly formed squadron would be doing, he didn't knew either. That's the military rolled, he concluded. Sometimes tax payers didn't know what their money was being used for, and sometimes soldiers didn't know what they'd be used for.

Rookie heaved a sigh. After how his first mission went he wasn't sure the military was the right path for him, but Bravo had assured him that they wouldn't all go to hell like that, it'd be worth a few missions failed to feel the glory and success of a job well done. Rookie's eyes drifted towards the man now. He was standing rigidly, his muscular arms crossed across his chest as he cursed, well, everything. He was tall with rugged features and brown eyes which matched with even, squared off buzz cut. Rookie felt a smile forming on his face. Though the Sergeant's appearance could be taken as intimidating, Rookie knew better. Though the Sergeant tried to act tough, he was just like anyone else, plus, he also seemed to have grown fond of Rookie, which no one in the squad really understood.

"Ya know what, it's been a while, at ease. They're not here yet, and I'm not gonna stand around waiting." Rift waved them off and padded over to Fray, who was standing at Rookie's right. Rookie exchanged a curt nod with him before shuffling over to Bravo who acknowledged him with a grunt.

"I don't like this, bro." Bravo muttered, turning towards Rookie, a slight scowl on his face.

Rookie grinned. "I know, you only told everyone in the squad fifteen times."

Bravo rolled his eyes slightly, "whatever, dude. This isn't right."

"Yeah, yeah. If you say so dude." Rookie chuckled, amusement sparkling in his bright green eyes.

"Well I _do _say so, you just wait and see." Bravo looked over at Rookie who paused for a moment, surprised to actually see concern within his features.

"Wait, you, the brave and mighty Bravo is actually _scared?_" Rookie raised his eyebrows, smirking as Bravo quickly defended himself, insisting that he was only skeptical about the situation and didn't trust anyone to lead them.

Derek "Frost" Westbrook

"Why do you always wear that stupid mask?" Gator snorted as he followed Frost inside the 10th Special Forces Group Complex, where they were supposed to meet their new squad. Frost paused to cock his head to the side and cast a sideways glance over at Gator who raised an eyebrow in return to the gesture.

Frost narrowed his eyes, wracking his mind to think of a worthy retort, his desperation increasing as he watched Gator smirk as he observed Frost's struggle. Finally he huffed a sigh and scoffed, "oh shut up, asshole."

Gator put his hands up in mock surrender, a grin growing on his face. "It's in the job description." Chuckling softly, the man slipped by Frost and maneuvered around the selves of ammo cans to see a group of soldiers lounging on couches, speaking among themselves.

The complex building was a lightly lit room, the lights shining down on the dull cement floor. The walls were made from white bricks, giving the room a bright, warm feeling. There was equipment scattered around the large room, ammo cans sitting on shelves, a raft leaning against the right wall, various things resting on tables. Frost liked the building, based on the things inside of it, it didn't seem like much of a business place. A red flag hanging on the wall caught Frost's eyes, but he dismissed it quickly, seeing that it was a Ranger Unit flag, rather than a Delta Force banner. Needless to say, Frost felt a strong amount of pride for his SF.

By now, the newly promoted Staff Sergeants had caught the soldiers' attention and Gator shot Frost a secretive wink before crossing his arms and scowling at the squadron, his features twisted up in an overall intimidating expression.

Two of the soldiers stiffly got to their feet, casting tense glances over at their comrades. "Sorry, Sir…" One of them spoke and Gator grunted, shaking his head in disapproval. Frost quickly stepped up beside him, his right hand moving to the base of Gator's skull before he firmly squeezed his neck, locating the pressure points. Gator's shoulder's hunched in the crippling pain and he instinctively ducked away from Frost, who released him, a smug smile on his face.

"Don't mind Gator here. His ego is bigger than his brain." His voice was muffled slightly from the balaclava covering his head, but he felt no need to remove it. "I am Staff Sergeant Derek Westbrook, but I insist that you call me Frost. This idiot besides me is Oliver Dempsey. We call him Gator. Don't let his looks fool you. He's a goofy son of a bitch."

"There's no need to bring my mother into this!" Gator shrieked and Frost turned to look at him, a grin spread across his face. Gator gave Frost an affectionate punch on his shoulder before pivoting to look at the other soldiers. "You all have names?"

A tall, Hispanic man with light brown hair and mixed hazel eyes stepped up. "I'm Sergeant Noah Johnson, Rift, if you'd like, Fire Team Leader of The Alpha Team. In my team is Specialist Owens, the team's designated Marksmen, nicknamed 'Fray'," the man Frost guessed was Fray gave a quick flick of his hand in greeting, "Over there is PFC Williams, the team's grenadier. Nicknamed Lucky for the most ironic reasons." Noah was smirking as he said that, gesturing over at a short man with light blonde hair and a narrow face. "And last yet certainly least, there's Private Elliot, our team's rifleman. We call him Rookie." Frost glanced over to see a kid about eighteen smile at the sound of his nickname. He had emerald eyes which shone with excitement and dark brown hair that was way longer military regulations. _Better get a haircut…_

Frost and Gator exchanged curt nods and handshakes with each of the men before turning to the other half of the squad. A man with tanned skin and a muscular build glanced up from where he was sitting on the couch, his legs draped over the armrest. "I'm Bravo, that's Fray, that's Blitz, and that's Hitman. Annnndddd," the man craned his neck. "Those two over there are Stinger and Talon, the sniper team."

The man Frost knew as Noah sighed and lowered his head. "Vague, Bravo. That was very vague."

Bravo grinned, "My specialty."

Gator shot Frost a sideways glance, his jaw clenched and eyebrows arched. _Wow… _He mouthed subtly. Frost couldn't help but agree. Blinking slightly, he shifted uncomfortably on his feet, time to take a risk. "I just want to say… I know we can't replace your former Squadron Leader, we have no intentions to." Frost hesitated. "I've lost people as well, I know how it feels…"-Frost was thankful that the mask hid his face-"We promise to do everything in our power to just get the mission done and get you all home. That's our job. You guys do your job, and we'll do ours. We don't need anyone fucking around on the battlefield due to hostile feelings, so let's try to get to know each other or a least get along."

There was a moment of silence. Bravo visibly bristled.

"Hell yeah, Sir." Rookie was smiling up at his newly announced leaders. Though he could tell that his squadron had their doubts, he couldn't help but like them. Maybe he was naïve, maybe it would prove his ruin, but he paid that little heed. "Yessir."

Bravo rolled his eyes at Rookie. What did the kid know? _Nothing. _That was the problem. His eyes shifted back to the Staffs. Something that the masked one said… they both looked uneasy when they mentioned losing people, but what did it mean? What did they not know? Bravo blinked. He deserved to know about the men he was not only going to trust with his life, but his _squad's _life. His _family. _If they were fucked up, if they put personal priorities first, he'd be ready to take charge. He wasn't saying that they were bad people, no. He simply didn't trust them. He'd seen soldiers-good soldiers-go deadpan in the middle of a firefight. Needless to say, it never ended well. Bravo closed his eyes, grimacing as he fought away a memory. He'd find out their problem, guaranteed.

"Sir, if we're all going to get chummy, I think I have a confession to make…" Bravo opened his eyes as the whole squad groaned as Blitz spoke up.

Gator and Frost exchanged a skeptical glance before looking over at the man who had spoken. "What is it, soldier?" Gator crossed his arms and lifted an eyebrow in a _this-better-be-interesting _expression.

"Well… I was going to stick to the Berets or Rangers… The Delta Force was _not _on my list." Blitz had a sheepish smile on his face as he peered around at his comrades who scoffed, unamused by his poor attempts to crack a joke or chuckled, shaking their heads at the man's persistence.

Frost smiled in the slightest. "You better be the squad's smartass jokester, because if that was serious, I might as well kick you out right now."

"The Rangers." Gator scoffed. "Might as well lead ya right off a cliff."

"Sir, with all due respect, could you laugh at that joke? I just bet Talon a month's worth of beers that you'd laugh at one of my jokes."

"Hmm. What do ya think, Frost? Was that even the slightest bit funny, or should we kick his ass out of the Delta Force right now?" Gator turned round, his gunmetal eyes glowing with mischief as they locked with Frost's.

"Blitz… I think you'll be paying for everyone's beers later tonight."

With a triumphant hoot, Frost watched in bewildered amusement as the young sniper dove over the couch, taking Blitz down in a tackle. Turning, Frost swiftly made his way towards the exit, Gator in tow. Reaching out to push open the door, he paused for Gator had seized him by the forearm.

"Ya know what, Frosty?" Gator inquired his eyes aglow. "I think they're just what we need. They'll have a good shot at straightening you out when we go out into combat."

"Yeah, believe me. I know."

Bravo watched the two men leave before his attention was abruptly pulled away as he had to dodge the flying foot of Blitz as Talon's force sent him backwards summersaulting off the couch. Smirking, he watched as Rift tried to break it apart, though everyone knew he wasn't really trying because Blitz had to get beaten from time to time to keep his ego from flaring up. The remaining soldiers quickly filed out of the complex or chatted among themselves, some going far enough to place bids on the fight between Blitz and Talon.

"Bravo?"

Bravo twisted his head to the side to see Rookie beside him. "Yo, Rook. What's up?"

"You don't like the new guys, do you?"

"Nope. Not one bit. They're fucked up."

"What's going on in that twisted head of yours, Bravo?" Rookie sighed, the corners of his mouth twisted into a deep frown.

"When what's-his-face said that he'd lost people, they both tensed up, ya see it?"

"Aww c'mon dude! As your friend, I'm asking you this. You can please let it go?" Rookie groaned, tossing his head back in frustration.

"No."

Rookie looked back at Bravo, his virescent eyes locking with the older man's, his expression urgent and serious. "Do you trust me?"

Bravo did not hesitate to answer. "No." Rookie's face fell. "With time I will, and soon, you'll earn my trust."


	6. Chapter Five: Nothing Lasts

**Disclaimer—I don't own Call of Duty or any of their characters. Anyway, guys. This is a looonnnngggg chapter because I felt like I had to make Frost's, ah, flashback, if you will, make sense. I'm sorry if you're disappointed with the said flashback, I simply had no idea what I should've done. In my opinion it seems too… dramatic. So, either A, Frosty is being a lying butt, or B It'll serve as a place hold/draft until I go rewrite it. Freedom of being the author XD. Oh and I learned that one has to at least be a Staff Sergeant to join the Delta Force. I'm not sure if that rule still remains, but I'm going to pretend that it was changed later on… Anyway, here ya guys go. Enjoy. Unless you don't want to, then I guess you don't really have to…**

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Five: Nothing Lasts… Let Go of the Past<em>

_Fort Carson, Colorado_

_SSgt. Derek "Frost" Westbrook_

_October 20th, 2016_

Gator lifted his gaze, a low exhale escaping his lips as he spotted his friend storming down the hall. _God have mercy on whoever has to meet his wrath. _"Frost! Wait up!" Gator called out, making a mad dash down the hall and colliding with Frost as he abruptly stopped and turned to face him.

Frost let out a loud cry as he lost balance and tumbled, his head smacking on the hard tiled floor. His hands had failed to catch his fall and they were now clutching his head. "Dammit, Oliver. I'm not a quarterback."

"Roger that." Gator chuckled as he peeled himself off Frost whose face was screwed up in pain, his eyes sealed shut. Blinking softly as concern trickled into him, Gator shook Frost by the shoulder softly until the man opened his ghastly azure eyes. "You OK, dude?"

Frost's mouth opened, but no words came out. Slowly, he pulled his hands away and inspected them, an action that confused Gator, it were as if he was expecting blood to be on them. Finally, with a wince, Frost admitted defeat and sighed. "I got brain damage, remember?" When Gator stared at him in dumbfounded shock, he went on to explain. "I thought you knew… It's nothing too bad, honest. I'll get bad headaches now and then, and this annoying ringing in my ears, but, like I said, it's not too bad. It could've been a lot worse. Just try not to let me smack my head around too much. M'kay?"

Gator blinked out of his daze. "Okay, Frosty." He quickly got to his feet before helping Frost up. "So why were you marching down here like you were about to kill Makarov himself?"

Frost's face flushed. "Oh, right." His head dropped and such a sad look crawled across his face it made Gator cringe and wish he hadn't brought it up. "Passed a bastard in the mess hall, don't know who, must've had enough clearance to know about our Op, but anyway, said that trying to find Metal was a waste of money and resources. That they were as good as dead. I crossed him, he fucking told me to forget them. Told me that nothing good would last and I should let it go, leave it in the past. Leave _them _in the past." Frost's body shook in a sigh as he continued to shuffle down the hall, his hands in his pockets.

Gator hesitated for a moment, his eyes drifting to Frost. Leaning forward, he delivered Frost a swift cuff on the head, who let out a soft yelp before turning to stare at Gator. "Frost, first of all, get cha hands outta those pockets! You have a terrible habit of doing that, do you even _know _how many push-ups you'd have to do if you got caught, bro? Second of all—"

Gator stopped as he realized Frost was chuckling.

"Calm down, bro. Look, I'm sorry. I guess my mood's rubbing off on you, but right now I don't need smart-ass Gator. We gotta go to the briefing and I don't need you getting us in trouble." Frost gave a crooked semi smile and draped his arm over Gator's shoulders. Gator shook his head, a smile crawling across his face as well.

"So, this head injury… You gonna be alright?"

"Yeah, it feels a lot better now that you wacked it. Bad concussion, that's all."

"Good." Gator pulled away from Frost as they neared their destination and they began walking side by side, down the wide hallway. "Frost…?"

Frost paused and peered over at his friend. "Hmm?"

"What… What was Team Metal like?"

Frost was standing in front of the door, his hand resting on the knob. Slowly, he pulled back and turned, peering at Gator. "Really?"

Gator nodded.

Shifting backwards so his back was braced against the wall he crossed his arms over his chest. "What do you mean?" Frost had his brows furrowed and his head dipped low. The question had caught him by surprise.

Gator slid past him and opened the door to the room they were arranged to meet in. Seeing that it was empty, he motioned for Frost to follow him inside. With a sigh, Frost did so. "What's up with you, dude?" He asked as he plopped down in a chair, kicking his feet up on the table.

"Your first mission. That's always bound to be a good story. Tell me 'bout it." Gator smirked as he too took a seat across from Frost.

"Yeah, I suppose it was."

* * *

><p><em>Frost aimed his gun steadily at the target, his finger creeping towards the trigger. The man simply smirked up at him, enjoying the young Corporal's struggle between his orders and his, ah, personal connection. "I <em>will _kill you this time." _

"_Why? Your career will be over. You cannot kill me and redeem yourself. It will not bring them back, my dear Frost."_

"_Don't call me that."_

"_Why not, my friend?"_

"_I'm not your ally, and I am certainly not your friend. I try to avoid people who try to kill me and murdered my squad."_

"_As do I, and look where we are now. What did it feel like, watching your squad die in front of you? Strangers, sure. How did it feel, being passed from one squad to the next, leaving dead men in your wake? Men who were on _your _side?" The man has a Texan drawl in his thick voice, so heavy it made Frost cringe at the sound._

_Frost clicked the round into place._

"_Frost, do NOT engage."_

_He pressed it to the man's forehead._

"_Corporal Westbrook, DO NOT ENGAGE."_

_Frost closed his eyes, his finger trembling on the trigger. He itched to pull it._

"_Mother FUCKER."_

_Frost felt his arm being forced down, then his feet flew out from beneath him. He landed flat on his back, sinking to the floor of the safe house with a sickening _crack _as his vest met the cement. It echoed off the walls and the ceiling. Frost felt the sole of a boot driving his cheek into the ground. _

"_It's best for you to learn this early on," the voice Frost knew belonged to the man called Grinch snarled. "Do not let personal motives and emotions interfere with the mission. I told you we needed him alive, yet you let your anger get the best of you. Do you understand?"_

_Frost's eyes drifted. The drug dealer, terrorist, want-a-be dictator—already a dick—mother fucker, son of a bitch, bastard, and any other colorful name Frost could think of, was laughing at him. And man, did that _hurt._ Shame burned within him. How had this man always gotten the best of him? Three times, he'd been assigned to an Op to hunt down this man, and three times everyone around Frost had perished. The only reason Frost kept getting assigned was because he knew the man, Alexi, better than anyone else. Frost was completely convinced that the only reason he escaped was God's curse and gift. The only reason Frost was alive was to make him suffer a fate worse than death and ultimately fuck him up, or, so he could put this man's rain to an end._

_Frost's eyes drifted towards the large wall which was lacking the panel of a garage door. There was a steady downpour beating upon the scorched earth of Mexico, and on occasional brilliant flash of lightning, followed by the low rumbling of thunder. He laid on the cold, stone floor, damp with the rain. "I'm sorry, sir. Please, will you let me up now?" Frost's voice was soft and muffled, but it hid the distaste and bitterness hiding within his tone._

_With a doubtful look in his eyes, Grinch did as the man requested, removing his boot from his comrade's face, and then watching as the man sat up, staring over at the terrorist who remained in his seat, his hands bound together with the zip ties. He considered Frost carefully. The man had done nothing to make the team dislike him, but Grinch simply did not like the thought of someone replacing his dead teammate. Also, not to mention, he didn't want the young man on this mission. He was hotheaded towards the target and that was bound to cause trouble, but, he had a rightful reason to despise the man._

"_Alright. I'll call in to Truck and Sandman. Don't do anything stupid." Grinch muttered softly and Frost lowered his head, ashamed for a whole new reason. Grinch seemed to notice this and offered his hand to help the man to his feet. "Hey, look, kid. You found him, we got him, you did your part, now let us do ours. OK?" Frost nodded softly, though his face was still twisted in a frown. He wanted to prove himself to these guys, but he just fucked everything up. _

"_Truck, this is Grinch, over."_

"_Grinch? Ah, we've run into a situation here. Maybe twenty hostile militia." Truck's voice was cool and collected, but Grinch could hear the gunshots crackling through his earpiece._

"_What about the target? Frost and I have him! Do you need assist?" _

"_Umm… it _would _be nice, and we've received new orders—you're clear to kill him."_

"_Roger that. We'll come ASAP." Grinch hung up the call and turned to regard Frost who couldn't hide the pleasure on his face. "I'll let you do the honors. Make it quick." Grinch quickly trotted outside, into the rain._

"_Well, this is where it ends, Alexi." Frost pressed the M9 against the man's forehead once more. "This is for all the people you hurt. Goodbye, bastard."_

"_Goodbye sonuvabitch!" With that, Alexi sprung forward, swinging his hands—which he'd somehow freed—and hitting the pistol from Frost's hands. Frost cried out as he staggered back, and that was what saved his life. _

_Alexi lunged forward, grabbing the knife that was sheathed at Frost's side before shoving Frost backwards with such force that his back crashed against the wall and he sank to the floor. Before Frost could do anything expect raise his arm to shield himself, Alexi was there, trying to force the blade down into Frost's chest. _

_Frost's arm shook with the effort of trying to keep the blade away from his body. "GRIN—," his cry ran short as Alexi's other hand clutched his neck, his fingers curling around his throat. Finally, Frost's eyes rolled, the lack of oxygen getting to him and his arm slipped. Luckily, the blade missed and hit his left shoulder. _

"_Goodbye, Derek." The voice rasped, and then searing pain erupted in his shoulder. Frost tried to cry out, but there was no air in his lungs, so he simply writhed beneath the blade, losing the battle for consciousness._

_Frost's eyes locked in on the smirking face above him. The bloodlust hidden within the dark amber orbs frightened Frost more than the thought that he was going to die. That this bastard would live. Frost's eyes rolled back and the low laugh echoed in his ears. His senses were creeping away… His fists uncurled and his fingertips brushed the grit covered floor._

"_What the hell!" _

_There was a gunshot, then a scream, then nothing._

"_Frost! FORST! WAKE UP!" _

_Frost could hear the voice, but fatigue flowed through him. His eyes would not open._

"_GET THE FUCK UP!"_

_There was a sharp, stinging sensation on his face and Frost wanted to flail at the man, but he didn't even have the strength to do that. So instead, he pried his eyes open._

_Grinch's face was hovering above his own, concern etched across it. _Really? Was it concern? _Blinking, he twisted his head to the right to see the limp form of Alexi, his back to them, blood swelling from it. Frost tried to speak, but his throat was sore and raw, as if he'd been screaming… or strangled. Looking to the left, his winced to see the blade buried deep in his left shoulder. _

_Suddenly, Grinch was apologetic. "I know you're wounded, and I know I shouldn't have left you, but I had to see what situation Truck and Sandman were in. I'm sorry buddy, but we've got to move. I can pull it outta you right here." He was looking down at Frost's face, which paled as he suggested that. The kid's eyes were wild and frantic, and he'd begun to tremble. Out of fear or pain, Grinch would never know. "I know it sounds scary, but it's gotta come out, man. It'll hurt eve—"_

"_Do it." Frost's voice was steady, but high and tight. "Just, get it over with. We've got people to save."_

_Grinch nodded, fishing out a strip of gauze from his rucksack and turning back to the task that now laid in his hands. The kid watched him with wide, trusting eyes that seemed to pierce right through him. That made the task nearly impossible._

_Did he mention that Frost was shaking and screaming as soon as he started to remove the knife? 'Course not._

_Finally, the blade was extracted and the wound was bandaged. Then, Grinch helped Frost to his feet, shoved his rifle into his hands, then together, they marched out into the rain._

_Frost's shoulder was killing him. The rain was being blown at his face so violently, they felt like little shards, digging into his skin. The sky was dark with the clouds, which proceeded to weep down on them, not matter how much Grinch cursed at them and told them to fuck off. The wind engulfed Frost in a swirl of fear, and he closed his eyes, and dipped his helmet slightly, so it'd cut into the wind and provide a better shield for his eyes._

_Pure panic raged through him as he blinked then open. _Where the HELL was Grinch? Had he lost him? _Cursing his stupidity, he pursued forward, calling out Grinch's name. No response. He tried the radio. Nothing. Called for Sandman. Nope. Truck. Nada. He was on his own._

_Frost slung his rifle over his shoulder and glanced around. Here he was. The youngest and lowest ranked Delta Force operator in American History, simply because he knew a terrorists movements like he back of his hand. To qualify for the Delta Force, one had to at least rank at a Staff Sergeant, age at twenty-two and have at least four years of service. Frost had none of these things. But he was wanted for his knowledge, no other reason. Sure, he was a cabal soldier, but matter did it not. He was wanted because he was a survivor when he should've died. He was wanted, because three times a man had tried to wipe him out, and three times he had escaped. But he hadn't sought out the Delta Force. The Counterterrorist Force sought out _him.

_Frost picked up his pace in a slow jog, trying hard not to stumble as hard gusts of wind pushed him forwards. "Damn hurricanes." _

_Yes, it had occurred to Frost that his team might be in mortal danger. Yes, he did find this concerning. Yes, he intended on finding them. He hurried along, trying to see through the storm, which was a blessing in disguise. The Civilians would all be evacuated and the storm would shield him. _

_Finally, the wind died down and the rain let up, only a little, but enough for Frost to hear the steady pulse of a submachine gun and the cries of wounded men. Frost narrowed his eyes and took off at a sprint, down the slippery road that ran over the relatively flat and leveled land. To his left, there was a lush forest, and to his back was a winding river that the house Grinch and he had been in overlooked. Frost froze, cocked his head, and listened. It was coming from the west, to Frost's right. Frost slowly peered in that direction. He couldn't see anything that wasn't within a ten feet range, but luckily the road had turned that way anyhow. Frost wasted no time. _

_Running as fast as he could without slipping—more than he already had—he continued towards it, his boots sliding across the slick pavement as he did. The roar of gun fire started to mingle with the sound of the wind whistling around him, but now, _right-fucking-now, _he'd help his team. He would not stand by as a coward and run as he had times before. _

_Now he could see it. He could see the town. He could see the militia. He could NOT see his team._

_The street ran through the center of the town, and shabby looking buildings were standing on either side. This was obviously a poor man's town. The roofs of the buildings looked no thicker than sheet metal, the walls, weak concert foundation. Some even looked wooden. How it had survived thus far through the storm, Frost had no idea. _

_Frost hutched his shoulders as he snuck over towards one of the buildings, convinced that the eternity of being in the open would kill him before the militia even had their shot—not that they needed to worry, they'd have their chance. Frost was sure of it._

_Frost narrowed his eyes as he hugged the wall before sneaking around the back of the building and turning into a tight alleyway. It was smaller than his wingspan and he found himself smiling at that, a plan hatching in his mind._

_Before he was deployed to the 'Stan with his Ranger Unit, they'd endured a fun as hell two week training program where they learned how to act and react if they were captured and/or tortured. They'd learned what to say, how to resist, and yes, escape plans. Those Frost's youthful mind remembered well. Particularly the simulated chimney he had to shimmy up. This was no chimney, but it was the same idea. _

_In a few struggled attempts, Frost had made it up onto the roof and almost found himself turning and flashing a grin to his buddy and saying 'who da man?' A chant they'd picked up rather quickly. Frost's heart yearned for his comrades from the Ranger days._

No. You have your comrades. Like it or not, they're your family now and you're gonna to have to save their asses.

_Frost huffed. Sometimes he hated it when he was right. Slowly, he swung his rifle around and peered down into the streets. The militia all seemed to be plowing down the street, to the far end of town, their voices snapping in excitement. Frost let out a groan, hoping his Team could hold their ground for even a little while._

_The wind tugged at Frost's clothes and the cold seeped through him. He cursed as he got to his feet and took an unsteady step forwards, eyeing the small gap between the roof he was perched on and the next. His brain raced back to a class he'd taken as a freshman in high school. Aerospace modelling if he recalled correctly. He briefly could hear the soft voice of his teacher, promptly reminding him of the formula for Force. Mass multiplied by acceleration equaled force. Man that was drilled into him and damn, did he flunk that fucking class or what? Frost blinked and he was back in hell during monsoon season. He had little reason to be worrying about failed classes, he had more important matters to address. Maybe the fact that he'd been spotted would be a good place to start. _

_The enemy saw him, and he saw the enemy, and his heart began to race The man was standing on the street, gun in hand, eyes fixated on Frost how suddenly wished the sprinkle would heavy into a downpour once more. Instinctively, he continued forward, acting as if he had not noticed the man, then pretended to stagger with a gust and use it as an excuse to crouch lower to the roof. His GI (government issued) Kevlar ACH (advanced combat helmet) could supposedly stop any rounds up to the .762 and God, he hoped so, otherwise his plan would go to hell extremely fast._

_Frost closed his eyes as he crept along the roof, bracing himself for the impact of the bullet that was sure to come. And sure enough, it did. The bullet nailed him, square in the forehead, and the force threw him to the roof, leaving him doubting the one thing he learned in that godforsaken class. The roof groaned beneath his weight, but Frost remained still, doing what he was sure only worked in movies. Played dead._

_It was now that he was thankful for the wind for it had caused enough noise to drown out the pained whimper that managed to escape Frost's throat. His head screamed in pain and he clamped down hard on his bottom lip. It felt as though a sledge hammer had come crashing onto his skull. Finally, when he was sure that he'd been "dead" for at least five minutes, he sat up, ignoring the blood running down his forehead and cheeks. _

_The blood mingled with tears as it stung his eyes and his brain seemed to throb against his skull which throbbed against his helmet, but he forced himself on, knowing quite well that he was out of time. The gunshots had die and it was replaced by hoots and shouting. Frost felt dread seep into his chest as he pressed on, scaling each roof until there he was, perched above an alley where his team stood with their hands raised above their head. Compromised._

_Frost took in a slow breath. They're weapons hadn't been collected yet, it could still work. T'was now or never. The enemy didn't deserve a prize as highly regarded as a Delta Force team. And so what did Frost do exactly? _

_Fucking bullshit that never should've worked._

_That's why it did._

_With an almighty screech, Frost leapt to his feet, nearly being thrown back down to it by the force of the wind. His gun blazing, he fired it into the large crowed of militia, an extremely easy target. Team Metal took this chance to dive forward and grab their weapons and start firing as well. Frost didn't think twice as he basically walked off the roof and dropped onto the street below. When his magazine ran dry, he switched to his pistol. Bullets were flying past him, from both sides, but Frost paid it little heed as he dropped to his knees, still firing. Both of his shoulders ached, but he continued firing, ignoring the pain. It didn't take long for the militia to pull back and retreat. After all, it only takes a few men to start a massacre._

_Frost watched them go, his chest heaving in rapid, shallow breaths. Slowly he rose to his feet, amazed that his plan had worked which resulted in a short-lived nervous, giddy laugh before his knees buckled and he sank to the ground, a low grown escaping his parted lips. Exhaustion seeped through him and he allowed his eyes to close, simply yearning for sleep more than anything else._

_It didn't take long for the team's First Sergeant, Truck, to be at his side, inspecting him for injuries._

"_I'm alright," Frost moaned, his head tucked against his chest._

"_Are you hurt?" The man sounded sincerely concerned and that caused Frost to smile slightly._

"_I'm not shot if that's what you mean." _

"_You're bleeding." Truck mused, gently trying to roll frost onto his back so he could better inspect the wound. Finally, Frost stopped resisting and allowed Truck to assist him. The elder man gasped as Frost opened his clouded azure eyes, blinking the blood away._

"_I did what I had too." Frost rasped as Truck gazed in bewilderment at the bullet lodged into Frost's Kevlar, then at his shoulder, blood stained the bandage. _

"_Damn right you did, kid. Come on. Get up, soldier." Truck urged, gripping the kid by the underarms and tugging him upwards. With a sharp, pained intake of air, Frost got his feet under him and turned to face the older man. _

_He was tall with a muscular and sturdy build, round face, and dark almond colored eyes that sized Frost up carefully. Frost couldn't help but offer a small smile which the man returned. "You had me scared to death, kid. You just come flying down from the roof, mowing down anyone in your path. Had me scared shit."_

"_Saved your fat ass." _

_Frost and Truck turned in unison to see Grinch and Sandman padding down the alley way, back toward the duo, probably returning from chasing off some of the militias._

"_What the hell happened to you, Rookie?" Grinch's grin had melted as he eyed the blood running down his comrade's face. Frost merely shrugged, wincing hard as he did so._

"_Aw, ya 'know. Just proving to my high school teachers that they had the formula for force wrong all those years. It obviously does not matter about the mass of the object to have a large amount of force. This sucker nailed me square in the head—thank God that that plan worked—and I went flying to the roof. He left after I played dead." Frost and Grinch shared a smirk, Truck an eye roll, and Sandman simply shook his head._

"_I have to say, Rook. I'm impressed. And you and Grinch managed to take down the target as well?" Sandman was braced against the alley wall and arched an eyebrow as both of the men stiffened._

"_Yessir." _

_Sandman nodded, peering up into the rain, "That settles it. Beers are on me tonight, boys. Now. Let's get out of the rain before Frost freezes his ass off."_

_Frost blinked. Had he been shivering? Turned out he had been, violently at that. He staggered after his team as they jogged out of the city, their eyes scanning for any militia that dared to challenge them. They quickly made their way back to Alexi's safe house and shuffled inside where Truck called in for a chopper to take them out. _

_Grinch raised his eyebrows as he watched Frost stumble up the stairs, start towards the couch, but collapse in utter exhaustion before he could make it there. Trudging over, he grabbed the man by the back of the shirt, tugging him up. "Are you fucking kidding me? The couch is three feet away from you."_

"_Maybe so, but the floor is just as comfortable." Came Frost's muffled reply. Chuckling softly, Grinch sat down beside the shivering heap, poking him until the man finally twisted his head to look at him._

"_Thanks, man. You really aren't that bad." _

_Frost blinked slowly. "Okay." He closed his eyes again._

_Grinch proceeded with poking him until he opened his eyes with a groan. "Y'know, I did save your butt back there."_

"_And I saved yours. What's your point?" Frost tried to go back to his nap._

"_A gentleman would thank me."_

_Frost pried his eyes open once more. "For real?" Grinch nodded. "Fine. Thank you for saving my sorry ass."_

_Grinch broke out into a grin. "No need to thank me, just doing my job."_

_Sandman watched the two, his arms crossed over his chest, his back braced against the counter. "See, Grinch, I can't tell if you're being serious or not. How is the kid even supposed to know?"_

_Frost finally sat up, realizing that they wouldn't let him let him gain a wink of sleep. Rubbing his eyes, then cursing as he smeared the dry, crusty blood onto his hands he muttered, "I saved you guys, why am I being punished?"_

_Grinch threw his head back and laughed and Sandman simply shook his head at the remark. With a wince, Frost pulled his helmet off and put his hand to the bleeding welt on his forehead. Slowly, he pulled away and inspected it warm, thick blood dripping from his fingers._

_Grinch roughly grabbed Frost by the head, pulling it closer to him so he could see it in better detail. Letting out an impressed whistle, his free hand snapped at Sandman who rolled his eyes before retrieving a med kit and tossing it at Grinch. It thwacked him in the face and he paused to flash the middle finger at his Master Sergeant before sloppily wrapping the strip of gauze around Frost's head._

"_There. You don't look stupid at all."_

"_Are you kidding me? He looks like a mummy from a Hollywood movie that was too cheap to buy the rest of his wardrobe." _

"_Fuck you Sandman. His sense of style is amazing."_

_Frost huffed a chuckle as he leaned against the wall, his eyes drifting shut._

* * *

><p>"Damn Sarge."<p>

"Fuck!"

Gator tossed his head and let out a laugh as Frost tumbled from his chair, Rift's and Bravo's sudden experience startling him beyond belief.

Frost was lying, sprawled out on the floor as he stared up at the men in bewilderment. "How long have you been here?" His eyes were stretched wide.

Rift and Bravo exchanged a grin. "Long enough."

Gator cocked a brow at Frost. "None of that is true, is it?"

Frost got to his feet and reclaimed his chair. "Why do you think that?" His moved his arms to pillow his head and grinned over at Gator. "I'm pretty badass, you'll see. I've done more things than you can think of."

Bravo and Rift moved to their own seats, ready to take up the challenge. "Oh really?" Gator snarled, his eyes narrowed. "Shoot."

Frost pretended to think for a moment. "Battle of New York. I was there."

Rift frowned. "Weren't we all?"

"Why yes, but did we all infiltrate an enemy sub and use their own weapons against them?" Frost had a smug smile on his face.

"I don't believe you." Gator scoffed, a grin spread across his face.

"M'kay. I destroyed the Russian Jammer that was blocking out our communications."

Bravo shook his head in disbelief. "Nah, man."

"Hmm. What else did I do?" Frost frowned in consideration, snapping his fingers. "Operation Kingfish. I was there. I rescued the Vice President in Germany, I captured Volk in Paris. And my last mission I tried to assist in rescuing the Russian President's daughter." Frost's smile vanished. "Slipped right through my damn fingers. My team went and just rescued them both…" Frost's eyes drifted to Gator, regret showing in his features.

_Damn it, Derek. Why'd you say that?_

Rift frowned. "If your team rescued them, why are with us?"

Frost sighed softly, dragging his gaze over to Rift. "Because they never made it out…"

Bravo stole a glance over at Rift, who did the same. "Oh. I'm sorry, sir."

Frost opened his mouth to speak when the door swung open. All four men rose and snapped to attention, giving swift salutes. The General Commander, known as 'Overlord', waved them off. Behind him was Colonel Munson and a few other officers Gator didn't know.

"Good morning, gentlemen. We have your assignment."


End file.
